


Bastard Prince

by robotichawk



Series: Solona Amell's Adventures [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:56:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5699164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotichawk/pseuds/robotichawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Date: Drakonis 28, 9:30 Dragon<br/>Dear Diary,<br/>Can you believe it? Alistair's a prince! A Theirin! Maker, what... I don't even know what to write anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bastard Prince

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for The Alistair Telephone Game on Tumblr. Prompt was 'Surprise'. You can find a lot more of amazing work done by other people [here](http://alistairtelephonegame.tumblr.com/).

Alistair trudged along the road, dragging his feet while his eyes constantly flitted to the rest of his party nervously. Gentle murmurs of idle conversations were floating about as usual as they marched onward to Redcliffe. The landscape was slowly changing as they walked by, until forests and hills began to match up with the pictures in his memories. No doubt they would arrive at the village in a day or two.

A day or two until she would to talk to Eamon.

He glanced over at Sol, who was chatting with Sten and Wynne with a smile and groaned inwardly. He should have told her earlier. He knew she was going to be angry when he told her – and quite honestly didn’t really want to tell her at all even now. But if she heard it from Eamon’s mouth instead of his, Sol may never forgive him.

That thought spurred him on, made him walk up to her briskly and tug at her arm.

“Alistair?” She looked up at him with curious eyes, laughter still hanging by her lips.

“Look, uh, Sol. Can we talk for a moment?” He mumbled, unable to meet her gaze.

“Are you feeling ill? You’re sweating.” She raised her hand to his forehead, feeling for his temperature.

“We’ll give you two some room.” Wynne smiled kindly at them before motioning for Sten to follow. He gulped nervously, nodding his thanks towards the old lady.

“I… I need to tell you something. I, ah, should probably have told you earlier.”

“Okay…?” She smiled at him. He cleared his throat, which of course did nothing to help the nerves.

“I told you before how Arl Eamon raised me, right? That my mother was a serving girl at the castle and he took me in?”

“Yes…?” She cocked her head at him, her expression obviously confused. He gulped.

“Don’t be mad… but… the reason he did that was because… well, because my father was King Maric. Which made Cailan my… half-brother, I suppose.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for her outrageous voice to shout out at him. But suffocating silence persisted, and he peeked his eyes open again to stare nervously at her.

She stood stunned, her black eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. Quite the prime example of ‘utter astonishment’.

“Sol?” He stepped closer hesitantly, and she snapped her mouth shut.

“You’re a Prince?” She whispered, shaking her head and taking a step backwards.

“Sol…” He tried to take another step towards her, but her onyx eyes blazed suddenly.

_Uh oh._

“You’re a fucking PRINCE?! And you didn’t think to, oh I don’t know, mention this before?!” She shouted, her pitch rocketing through several octaves. He winced as their companions turned to stare at them. No doubt they heard that interesting little tidbit.

“Well, I…”

“You’re a _royal_ bastard?!”

“Oh, I guess I am. Maybe I should have started with that line?”

He winced again as she bristled at him and backed up. The way she was right now, he was half-certain she was going to start flinging fireballs at him.

“Look, Sol. I would have told you, but… I didn’t really know how to say it. It never really meant anything to me, you know? I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan’s rule and so they kept me secret. I just…”

“So you just, what, didn’t think it’d be important to let me know I was falling for the Ferelden’s next-to-be King?!”

“Well… I don’t know about the King part-”

“I trusted you! ! For the three months we’ve traveled together, I trusted you!”

“Sol…”

She abruptly stilled, her hands planted over her hips.

“It’s not unusual for orphans to have no surname. I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to pry and hurt you. But you’re a Maker-damned Therein? Did you really have no chance to tell me for the past three months we’ve traveled together?” She hissed.

Alistair stared at his hands, shuffling his feet. Ugly guilt twisted in his guts at her furious words. Of course there’d been plenty of opportunities to tell her. He’d avoided it, hid the truth from her so she wouldn’t look at him differently.

“You don’t trust me, do you?” She sighed, closing her eyes.

“What? No! Sol, of course I do! Don’t say that.”

“Right.” She snapped, stalking away from him.

“Sol!” He tried to follow, but a sudden grip on his arm tugged him back. Alistair turned to find Zevran holding onto him firmly.

“I… wouldn’t do that, were I you my friend.” He remarked dryly.

“Fine job you did there, my Prince.” Morrigan scowled, her voice more sarcastic than ever before.

“Shut up.” He muttered.

* * *

Solona fumed.

She sat huddled by the second campfire, her knees drawn up to her chest and arms wrapped around them. Her agitated magic rioted beneath her skin, seeped out and turned the air blistering hot, then frosty cold repeatedly. Her black hair whipped about, violent gusts of wind surrounding her as her chaotic magic seethed.

But Barkspawn stubbornly kept her company, laid down by her feet and whined softly as he suffered through her surging magic. Solona struggled to clamp down on it better, to reel it further into herself, but already the majority of her magic was tied down inside and quite frankly her furious mind could not master that minuscule portion of her powers storming around.

“You fool, do you wish to burn up our camp?” Morrigan snapped, waving her hand to cast a barrier over herself and Barkspawn against her magic. Somewhere in the back of her mind she watched amusedly as Barkspawn let out an appreciative bark and an energetic wag of tail, thanking the witch. Despite the harsh frown she hid behind, Morrigan was totally a softie.

“You’re right, I’m such a fool.” She grumbled, wrestling with her power halfheartedly. The storm did not abate.

“You realized that just now, did you?”

“Love is fleeting and has no meaning. You are so totally, absolutely right. Maker, why did I expect him to be different? That he’d be special?” She scowled, tossing her wild magic into the campfire. The flames nearly exploded, tripling in size as it crackled and burned.

“Alistair Theirin! _Theirin!_ Maker, he didn’t tell me he was a blighted Theirin! Andraste’s tits, I’ve been kissing the Prince!”

“Others would be pleased, were they in your shoes.” Morrigan cocked her head, resting it in her palm as she watched her.

“What?”

“A man who is clearly in love with you have been revealed as the only rightful heir to the throne. Should you not be jumping for joy? Imagine the power and wealth having the King as your lover could bring you. Tis the most fortuitous event you could have dreamed for, is it not?”

“Oh.”

She blinked, her magic quieting down.

“The thought has not crossed your mind then, I take it?”

“No. I guess that’s how normal people would react though, if they found out.”

“You are a fool.” She scoffed.

“What? Why? Just because I don’t want to manipulate him?”

“Instead of earning his favor, here you sit shunning him, your magic all but shouting ‘I am angry.’”

“Well, why don’t you go win his favor?” She snickered, watching her grimace.

“I shall not subject myself to that, no matter the possible reward in the future.” She huffed.

“So you’re a fool too.”

“Sometimes, you are utterly insufferable.”

“Of course.” Solona grinned, watching the witch scowl.

“Why must you stay here and torment me? Go bother Alistair.”

“But he lied to me, Morrigan. He lied to me about who he was for three months. Am I supposed to just forget that?”

“Do you truly not know why he kept it hidden? Love is fleeting and has no meaning. But Alistair is a fool who truly believes in everlasting love and clearly thinks you to be his soulmate. Can you truly not guess as to his motivation for this deceit?”

Of course she knew. She could almost see the people sucking up to him in hopes of gaining influence, of treating him as nothing but a pathway to wealth and power. No wonder he was so good at evading questions. But she was livid at him for hiding the truth, for acting like a regular orphan lucky enough to become a Grey Warden instead of a sodding _Prince!_

“Alistair, take this girl away from me. She’s tried my patience long enough for tonight.” Morrigan scowled as she turned away from her, and Solona gripped her.

“Wait, hey! Morrigan, that’s not fair. I’m not ready. Don’t do this!”

“What are you on about? I am simply done with dealing with your tantrums for tonight. Yell at him if you must, for I do not wish to be bothered.” She shook her off, heading towards her own tent with a knowing glint to her yellow eyes. Solona gulped.

Softie Morrigan. She was supposed to agree love was useless and let her vent! Not try to make her talk to him! What was she supposed to do now?!

Alistair walked over warily, throwing a glance at the witch as she disappeared into her tent.

“Sol…?”

She turned her face away. Maker damn her, she was going to stay mad at him for longer than half a day! She refused to forgive him for lying for three sodding months after only a scant few hours.

He plopped down next to her with a sigh, and she doggedly ignored him.

“Sol… I _would_ have told you, you know? I just… I’ve never talked about it to anyone.”

Solona fought the urge to stick her tongue out at him. She would _not_ act like a petulant child.

“It’s just that everyone who knew either resented me for it, or they coddled me. Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I didn’t want you to know as long as possible. I didn’t want the way you looked at me to change, just because of my stupid birthright. I’m sorry.”

Solona peeked from under her lashes and saw the heavy guilt and a sad frown shadowing his pouty mouth.

“Did you think I’d treat you differently? That I’d suck up to you?” She asked.

“Well, no. Not really. You aren’t like the others after all. But I knew you should know about it, which made me all the more reluctant to tell you. So I just pretended to be some… nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens. I’m sorry, that must sound really stupid.”

“I’m the one who’s stupid, to fall for that.” She sniffed. “I mean, I knew you were good at playing dumb, but a Prince?”

“No, don’t say that! You’re not stupid at all.”

“Really? Then what am I?”

“The reason I say I’m lucky.”

She blushed hotly, hiding her face in her arms. No! She couldn’t get distracted by the way her pulse quickened, the way his gentle eyes caressed her softly…

_No! Angry, be angry! Be angry at the adorable, pouty, cute… no! Stop!_

“I wanted you to like me for who I was, as Alistair. Not the bastard Prince. I really am sorry, Sol. Forgive me?” He looked at her with those puppy eyes, dark and so damn sincere.

And she knew she’d lost. Andraste’s flaming tits, how was she supposed to stay mad at this charming man?

“You’re not hiding anything else?” She lifted her head.

“Besides my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, no. That’s it. Just the Prince thing, I swear.”

She pursed her lips before giving in.

“Alright,” She sighed, and leaned over to kiss him sweetly.

“My cute Prince.” She giggled, watching him groan.

“I _knew_ I was going to regret this.” He muttered.

“Shh, shut up and kiss me.”


End file.
